Declaration of Independence
by starinhercorner
Summary: Prompt: "Supermartian, July 4th, being aliens, they don't really understand all the patriotism and fireworks," over at kidiots's LiveJournal ficathon


**Author's Notes: (this ran away from me but I think I caught up to it? oops) **

* * *

M'gann wipes the cookie batter stuck to her fingers off on her lips before digging them into a bowl of red sugar crystals, followed by the blue, (stopping at the white)—and it all tastes as sharp and sweet and tingly as the cheering sounds. She watches the parade on television and she can actually see the happy crowd in the background, unlike on "Hello, Megan!" It's exciting. Her uncle has spent the past month trying to train her to walk on the ground, but he's away today and she can float off the floor all she wants. She watches a line of girls her age swing flags around and swishes her dishtowel along with them, holding it tightly in her hand to keep it from knocking her tiny bottle of vanilla off the counter again. They look like cheerleaders but with much more elaborate costumes, and even though she has her own costume laid out perfectly in her mind, today is making her want to add white stars to her cape. They seem to be everywhere out there, shooting into the air and littering the ground, made of the same shiny paper as the little flags she made her uncle buy to stick in the pots of all his plants.

She's _ready_ to be out there. Even when the significance she attributed to this day was only that it was when many retail outlets were having their "big blowout sales!" like the commercials told her, she was excited for the Fourth of July. Now that she knows it to be a _national_ holiday of _historical_ significance, she's ready to fly out of the window and _dance_ with all the people that the television is showing her are on the streets. She's already learned about so many songs today, and all the melodies are ringing and banging and crashing in her head like the instruments that played them. The notes buzz through her teeth and skin as she hums them, drills them into her memory. The lyrics are a little strange to her, not the words but the way they're arranged. _Oh—say—does—that—star—Spain—gold—banner—yet—wave? That's a question, right?_ She doesn't know the answer. She doesn't quite understand why the celebration seems to be only for America and not all of Earth—Mars has its cites and districts, of course, and there are places all over where one race is known to belong and another race is not—but this idea of countries is new to her. She has yet to ask her uncle why he picked this one to live in over the hundreds Earth has, but so far it seems beautiful and perfect. She can't wait for him to let her run around it on her own, even though according to him, Earth children at her age still spend much of their time under their guardians' supervision. She tries to argue _but the sidekicks on TV—_but he assures her that "sidekicks" are indeed what they are, watched and guided by their mentors no less than he watches and guides her. He won't quite say that that means she'll get to be a hero, too, but she can sense him turning the matter over and over in his mind. She can sense that he's on the verge of _yes_, and she'll give him whatever push in that direction that is within her power. Which, as Megan Morse, niece of John Jones, in the city of Chicago and the country of the United States of America, on the planet Earth, means baking the most persuasive and convincing sugar cookies her uncle has ever felt the joy of being presented with. And not setting off the smoke alarms this time. She watches a man in a sparkling red, white, and blue suit backflip in front of hundreds of cheering spectators and feels confident enough to set the tray in the oven.

Kid Flash throws his hands up in the air and bellows, "Ahh, what a fine day to be in the U-S of A!" The tears in all their clothes tell Superboy otherwise, or indicate that he was never given the real definition of "fine," and he's as confused as he is bitter. "Wh-what day is it?" he asks, and the three other boys exchange looks, unsure of how to explain the meaning of "Sunday" to someone who's never known any day between Monday and Saturday or "July" to someone who's never known August through June. Aqualad gestures attention away from himself, opting out of explaining another country's customs when he is infinitely more familiar with the kingdom of Atlantis. Robin shrugs. But Kid Flash plops his hand down on Superboy's shoulder, and even through the glove it is... still alarming, being touched, but not enough to make him growl this time. "Y'see, Supey, today is—zzz—tonight is—mmm—yesterday? Rob?" He looks back at Robin, and before Robin can pull up a clock, Wally makes the decision to wing it. "_On what was __**approximately**__ this day, this __**very-ish**__ day, waaaaaay back in 1776, _a bunch of old awesome pioneer dudes wrote a _big fancy letter_ to the King of England telling him to _stickitwherethesundon'tshine_—"

"_Kid_," Aqualad interjects, taking offense on a long-dead monarch's behalf. "Perhaps a more factual explanation of July 4th's significance would be appropriate for this situation."

"Who knew the water guy'd be wanting me to tell it dry..." It's only loud enough for Superboy to hear. "Okay, well, anyway, this big fancy letter was such a big deal that it had its own name, and it was known as the _Declaration of Independence, _written by good ol'—"

"Thomas Jefferson. Signed by 56 members of the Continental Congress. Most famously, John Hancock. Included two future presidents, John Adams and Thomas Jefferson himself." It spills right out of his head through his mouth, something he didn't know he knew until it was too late. The other boys all stare at him, and he looks down a rock at his feet and kicks it. "The G-Gnomes... put that in my head. With everything else. I don't know why."

"Welllll, there's your factual explanation, 'Lad. Way to go, Supey." Kid Flash elbows him in the side, and now Superboy is ready and willing to growl again, breath fuming from his nostrils as his hands tense. He looks to Aqualad, and Aqualad sighs. Somehow, having the feeling that Kid Flash was wrong to hit him validated in such a way is enough to steady him, or at least keep him from smashing Kid Flash's face into the gravel.

"I don't get it. Why be excited for something that already happened hundreds of years ago? You guys weren't even alive." Superboy folds his arms across his chest, holding the torn white fabric up but still hiding the red symbol imprinted on it, nervous now, for reasons he doesn't understand, about letting it show again after presenting it to Superman.

"My friend, I suspect that as you come to build your own history, your own past and your own memories, you will understand how an event can hold significance long after it has transpired." Aqualad places a hand on his shoulder, and Superboy sneers at it for a moment before meeting the other boy's eyes attentively. "This day, years from now, will be known to you as the anniversary of your liberation, and it will be yours to celebrate for that reason; just as the people of America have celebrate their liberation for decades."

"Hey-yeah, this is Supey's Independence Day, too! _Nice._" Kid Flash gives him a swift pat on the back and sidesteps before he can blink. He frowns, but otherwise lets the transgression pass.

"Yeah, and just wait 'til you turn one." Robin weaves his way in between Superboy and Kid Flash and slings up an arm to just barely have it hang by the wrist around the back of Superboy's neck. "Birthday parties are a blast."

"You sure the kid is good around fireworks?" Conner asks M'gann under his breath, inches from her ear. "It's not gonna... set him off?" Before she can respond, Gar is taking off down the hill, arms in airplane formation and hands grasping up at the shocks of blue and violet in the sky. A burst of red-orange hits the air with a thunderclap, and Gar leaps at least a foot off the ground at the sight and howls like a wolf. Wolf whines inquisitively, and Conner runs a thumb along the canine's right brow, coaxing his ears out of a position of alertness.

"It _is_ his first Fourth of July in America... but I think he's doing just fine." M'gann smiles and links arms with Conner. A soft spray of white and green hits the sky, an interlude, and fizzles out into the stars; and M'gann's eyes wander back down only to widen visibly in the moonlight. _Gar, if I can't see you, you're too far away! _she snaps over the link. Conner gulps. His eyes had been on her.

_But how'm I supposed to know when you can't see me?_

_If you can't see me, I can't see you._

There's a pause_. _M'gann can feel him searching, squinting, straining_. I can see Wolf 'cuz he's big and white. _

_Am I big and white, Gar?_

_Uhhhhh... _

_Kid, you heard her, _Conner interjects.

_Buuuuuut... _They hear him take a big, deep breath over the link. _ I wanna sit in this tree._

_Which tree? _M'gann and Conner manage to ask in unison.

_This one! This one! _And sure enough, there's movement in the leaves of a tree a few yards to the left, and a quick look with infrared vision via Conner confirms that it's Gar. M'gann wanders forward, blanket in tow, and gets close enough to discern that he's waving branches around with his arms like flags, signalling them over. M'gann smiles deeply and waves back.

_I see you. We're coming... _Her hand finds Conner's and the handle of the wicker basket he's gripping. _Don't fall. _Gar snorts at that, and Conner chuckles. M'gann huffs and lets go.

They set themselves up just in time for the fireworks show to really start, the preliminary flares having been meant to warm up the crowd that was already there and lure as many more people in as possible. Conner, M'gann, and Gar sit near the back entrance of Mount Justice, far away from the other on-lookers—Wolf is too large and feral-looking to pass as a dog, and Gar's hair and skin are too irrevocably green now to pass for normal. They don't dwell on that tonight. M'gann's sugar cookies glitter in both the low light and the highlights. The juices seeping into the grass from the steak Wolf gnaws on glisten as well. Conner's arms as he leans back are strong enough to prop M'gann up along with himself, while her hands are free to push another cookie into his mouth. Gar loses handheld sparkler privileges by choosing the tree as his perch; he swears up and down that it's a perfect place to light it because of the distance from M'gann, but M'gann makes it clear that wood is more flammable than Martians and floats a small American flag over to him to play with instead. By the time the sky is as bright and booming as a lightning storm without thunderclouds, he's bored with the flimsy thing, and stuffs in a tiny gap between two branches, where it stays.

M'gann shifts in Conner's lap and rolls her head back to press her cheek, green as Gar's, into his chin. "Are you sure _you're_ okay with fireworks?"

Conner frowns, then shrugs. "They're loud. Really loud. Super-hearing. But I'll live."

"Sensitive ears," she reaches back and strokes the edge of his jaw, the very tips of her fingers ghosting over his earlobe. "It's okay, I understand." She pats Conner's knee and nuzzles the back of her head into the crook of his neck.

Conner doubles the weight on his left arm to lift his right hand to her face, and he strokes the bangs that, until very recently, used to lead into a long sheet of hair. His hands aren't quite used to it yet, but they know the feel of her skin, and stick to familiar territory. "I _think_ you're making fun of me."

There's the long, drawn-out whistle of a flare going up in the distance, which by now Gar can duplicate perfectly through the gap in his teeth. There's an explosion, and the sky goes gold. Gar hollers at the top of his lungs, and Conner grins, the light bathing his face as he looks up and revealing the crumbs around his mouth. M'gann starts to hum, then interrupts herself to tell him, "I think you're having fun."

Conner drops them both onto the checkered blanket, and M'gann yelps as they go down. More gold hits the air, fading into violet and teal in the afterimage, spots swimming in their vision. Gar swings his feet back and forth as his eyes stay on the sky. Conner's arms go around M'gann's waist.

"Do you get this holiday?" he asks her in earnest, voice close enough to stay soft and still be heard. "Because I don't."

"Uh-huh!" Her eyes follow the trail of three consecutive blue plumes, and she nibbles at her lower lip. "...Enough."

"I don't get why we're celebrating a whole country. Most people don't even know much about it."

"_I_ don't get why we're only celebrating one country. Why not the whole planet?"

"Oh." He doesn't ask if Mars has planetary holidays, and doesn't know if Krypton ever did. The blue shoots up again, accompanied by a row of white. Gar's feet swing faster and harder, and before M'gann can remind him that branches are fully capable of breaking, he shouts to them with almost manic glee, "Red is next!"

He's right. Red, white, and blue all fire off at once, in every pattern seen that night, circles and stars and chrysanthemum shapes. M'gann starts humming the national anthem and falls into a tune he _knows_ is called "Auld Lang Syne"—he remembers it from New Year's—but he doesn't correct her. Her feet wiggle side to side against his legs as much as Gar's go back and forth. The fireworks completely obscure the moon, and no one flies down from the sky; but Conner finds himself thinking about his first night looking up at it at all, his first night outside, and wraps his arms tighter around M'gann because he can. He takes a deep breath because he can, and smiles as her fingers dance down his arm because he can. And he can because this night, one year ago, he started life outside of his pod. He understands a little more about history than just facts now, now that he has his own. M'gann touches her mind to his, and he lets her sink in. Her voice is nothing like the fireworks as its glow spreads softly and slowly through his thoughts, and she tells him there's nowhere else in the whole world that she would rather be.


End file.
